


Every Time I See You I Want To Kiss You; Who Am I To Keep You From Doing Whatever You Want?

by nc_ej_eg



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Comfort, Communication, Domestic Fluff, Eating Pie, F/M, First Kiss The Second Time Around, Friends to more, Friendship/Love, Leaving Again Only Because He Has To, Light-ish Smut, Love Confessions, Meaningful Tattoos, Middle of writing chapter four still but it's leaning more towards a mature rating atm, Mutual Pining, Open Communication and Conversation, Pining, Post-Gilmore Girls: A Year In The Life, Sleepy Baby Cuddles, Tags to Be Added With Each Additional Chapter, Thanksgiving, Words Are Difficult For Writers, Work induced Stress, admitting to feelings, happy crying, howl - Freeform, phone conversation, so much feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nc_ej_eg/pseuds/nc_ej_eg
Summary: He hadn't meant to do it, but it doesn't mean he doesn't want it. No, he wants, he desperately wants things to change, and he has hope that she does too.Two years Post Fall and Jess, for all he's tried, can't contain how he feels anymore. He loves her and her daughter and the place they've made for him in their lives, but it can't continue like this for much longer.Chapter 1Six days before Thanksgiving, Jess gives Rory something more serious than un-reviewed manuscripts to work on.Chapter 2Thanksgiving is here, but he just wants to sleep. Luckily Emy provides a very timely excuse to leave the table. Stories are read, and sleep is had. Rory provides cover for his continued absence from the table, and they share some innocent conversation.Chapter 3Being woken up is as pleasant and as disorientating as ever. Truths finally told. Spoken to each other with only a floor dividing them.Chapter 4It's the right time for so much and this is only the beginning.
Relationships: Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

Pulling away from her and this kiss is even more difficult than it was years ago. 

He can't forget the hitch in her breathing as she realized that he was about to kiss her, transforming a hug into more after he started to say goodbye. If he remembers correctly, which he may not, she seemed to meet him halfway into the kiss. He can still feel where her fingers glided along his jaw and down his neck, through two day's worth of scruff he hadn't bothered to shave, so that part had to be real. 

He hadn't meant to start this now, but her rather enthusiastic reaction was worth it.

Keeping his eyes closed, he breathes heavily as he says, "I'll be back on Wednesday night or Thursday morning at the latest," he takes a moment weighing what to say next, "Rory, think about this okay, and if you're ready then we'll talk, and if you're not, I can wait." If he knows one thing about this, it is that they both need to be sure of what they want before anything between them can happen again.

He knows that he wants this, her again.

In his attempt to step away from her, he finds himself unable to. Opening his eyes, he realizes that she still has a grip on the front of his shirt, covering her hand with his own; she lets go, and he moves over to the other side of the desk. Trying to create some distance between them, only noticing then that a faint blush has risen on her cheeks. 

"Now, this is the stack I'm taking, right?" he asks, double-checking for himself but also to make her open her eyes, and she does, looking at the pile in front of him and avoiding all contact with his eyes.

"Yeah," she says, clearly looking for something to do with her hands on the desk in front of her.

Trying his best to steer the conversation into a more familiar place, he asks, "Any of them I should know about in particular?" It's his usual question at the end of any visit.

He can see her smile at the normal conversation; good that's very good, back to business, he thinks just as she starts to say, "Holly's new romance was good. The historical fiction wasn't as trite as I expected. It needs polish, but it's something. A few others aren't even worth your time, frankly. I made notes on the title page for the authors, and there are post-its on top of that for you and the guys." 

"Perfect, thanks," he says as he places them into his open bag. Zipping it all up, he breathes deeply for a few seconds working up the courage to look at her again, but it fails him. 

Crouching down instead to visit the 18-month-old whose favorite place to play while they work is underneath the desks, imitating her mother as she flips through what must be ten children's books.

"Bye bye, Emy," he says when she looks up at him.

As usual, she reaches out towards him. "Jessss," she says softly, crawling out, picking her up, and giving her a tight hug, so she laughs, Rory coming over to join them. 

Looking over at Rory, she is focused on Em, their smiles matching. He bounces a little as Em's laughter slows, causing another round of happy giggles, extending the moment before he has to leave them here just a little bit longer.

Then she seems to notice Rory, "Momma," she says, wiggling in his arms. Passing her over, he's filled with another ton of feelings for the two of them.

Doing his best to cover the sudden lump in his throat, he says, "Rory, about my manuscript, I can't thank you enough," it's not a lie; the work she did with him on it was above anything he ever expected or asked for, knowing she expected something every five days kept him accountable and it got him into the best rhythm he's ever experienced. 

She shakes her head slowly, "You thanked me last month, besides you've done the same for me," her eyes dart down from his eyes to his lips. 

They flick back up a moment later. "Jess, I..." she starts to say, but he has to interrupt her.

"I don't want your first gut reaction," he says, suddenly frustrated with himself for putting them in this situation, but not finding it in himself to regret it; he continues, "Think about this, make pro-con lists, talk to someone, your mom, Lane, Luke, Paris..." 

"Matt and Chris," she says, listening intently to what he's saying but teasing him at the same time. 

"Yes, even them," he says, sighing because, of course, she can only guess what his friends could tell her, and she knows how much they value her, the work she does, and they're all good enough friends now that they'd just answer any question she asks.

Chancing getting closer after he picks up his bag and pulls it onto his shoulder, three steps towards her. In a soft voice, he says, "I want this to be one of the most well thought over decisions of your life," it's the last bit he needs her to hear before he can go.

She can't hide the shock that crosses her face at his words.

Sounding so sure, determined even, she says, "I can do that." Hearing her say that, something in him allows himself to give in to the hope he has for them; he's been so desperately trying to pretend it doesn't exist and failing miserably.

"I have to go home," he says regretfully; it doesn't feel right not anymore; how could it when what he just said was a lie. Philly isn't home. 

Every time he leaves them, another piece of himself stays here.

Home is here where he currently stands. He understands the irony of this. Home is this apartment, the same one he desperately wanted to escape a half a life ago. 

It's so different from what it was then. This apartment and all its changes, it's something he couldn't dream of when he was younger. It's become a place he longs to be now. 

Filled with a different mix of furniture, some heirlooms from her grandparent's place, some purchased or gifted from her mother, a dresser from her childhood bedroom in the nursery, and some pieces that were left when Luke moved out, their original placement now changed. Bookshelves filled to bursting lining the painted blue walls, a few shades lighter than her eyes. 

It's the two mismatched desks shoved back to back in the middle of the room that they bought together five months ago when he couldn't write on the couch while she used the small table they'd been sharing previously to lay out his halfway completed fourth novel, ripping it apart with her notes with absolute glee. 

It's his chair on his side of the desks across from hers, brought out of one of the many storage units from her grandparent's house. His favorite pens in the desk drawers and the extra charging cord for his computer that he leaves here out of practical convince cause he forgot to bring it one too many times.

Home is the two Gilmores in the doorway framed by the bookshelves that spill out into the landing. The little girl, waving him goodbye, held in her mother's arms, and the woman he's known for half of his life and loved for just as long—the two people he loves most.

The look she gives him as he turns back once more before he descends the stairs lets him know that she's aware of just how much he doesn't want to go, the soft expression in her eyes giving him one more reason to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, and Kuddos are my greatest motivation to write more. Please consider doing the things.


	2. Chapter 2

A tired cry comes over the baby monitor that's on the full table in front of Rory's plate, squeezed in between the gravy and the stuffing. Finished with his large helping of the Thanksgiving feast, he rises before anyone else can; besides, he has to get away from TJ, or he's going to go insane.

"I got her," he says, walking towards the back of the diner on his way to the stairs.

"Jess," Rory says as he passes her, poised to stand, the clear invitation for him to sit down in her eyes.

Lifting an eyebrow and smirking, she gets the message, sitting back down completely, leaning in towards her, head almost level with hers.

It would be so easy to kiss her right now, he thinks for a second too long, and then he knows that she's caught him thinking about it. A flash of memory from their moment last week in the apartment runs in his head. Not yet, not when they haven't talked yet.

"You should keep eating Rory," he says, "this is your only in dinner; you don't have three more to go to today." It's mostly to tease her, but it makes him look down the length of the table. The hosts of all the other Thanksgivings that she went to so many years ago all now brought together around a singular meal created by Luke, Sookie, Jackson, and Mrs. Kim, seated across the length of the diner. Everyone fitting only because they've used every single table.

The only people that have another Thanksgiving meal to go to today are Lane and Zack, the twins, and Mrs. and Mr. Kim, of course, and they are definitely not leaving until after dessert.

Doula catches his attention across the table as she averts her eyes and puts a comically too big forkful of turkey in her mouth, trying to seem like she's unaware of the situation going on between him and Rory. As if she didn't question him about it only a few hours ago. His eyes almost drift down the table further to Liz, but he stops himself before he can see that annoyingly knowing look in her eyes.

Another soft cry comes from the monitor, and he is turning towards the stairs before Rory can say anything else.

\----

"Emy Emy Emy," he says, opening the nursery door and crossing to the little girl standing in her crib who looks more impatient than upset.

"Jessssssssss," she says, suddenly giggling, his name coming out with a distinct snake sound at the end when she realizes it's him, her eyes going wide with excitement.

Picking her up when her arms reach towards him, he asks, "What's wrong? You are making quite the noise, did you know that?"

She nods her head and fuses a little in his arms.

"What's got you up?" he asks, giving her a sniff and noting that that's not the issue as he brings her closer so she can rest her head on his shoulder.

She doesn't though, she reaches closer and presses her lips in a wet baby kiss against his cheek. Laughing, he says, "Oh, thank you for that," before he kisses the top of her forehead into her light brown hair.

Only then does she rest her cheek against the soft corduroy of his shirt and relaxes in his arms, "That's it? Did you just want attention?" he asks, walking out of her room and closing the nursery door behind him, headed towards the couch.

"Why don't we sit out here for a while?" he suggests to the contented baby on his shoulder. Looking around for the nearest thing to read. The memoir that Rory's currently editing or the collection of fairy tales seem like the closest options.

Not the memoir obviously, grabbing the fairy tales, he sits down on the couch and adjusts so she can comfortably rest on top of him.

"Do you want me to tell you a story?" he asks, opening the book and flipping to the index, surprised to see that the beautifully illustrated book is from the '60s.

"What does your mom have here?" he wonders out loud, flipping to the one title included that he isn't familiar with.

"Princess Cat-Skin," he starts softly, ruffling her soft baby hair as she turns her head and shifts closer to the middle of his chest towards the book to get a better look.

He starts to read out loud at a slow, steady pace, "There once was a King whose wife died, leaving him without a son who might succeed the throne. This was a great disappointment to him, for it meant that in time his beautiful young daughter would become a Queen. Much as he loved the girl, the King feared that she knew too little of life ever to be a wise ruler."

Huffing out a laugh at that, turning the page. "Then she needs to go out into the world and experience it for herself, don't you think Emy?" he asks before he continues, "The matter gives me reason for great concern," the King would tell his counselors. "The princess may be blessed with golden hair and blue eyes but they will not help her rule a kingdom. Perhaps I had better think about adopting a son to take my place."

He can't help but roll his eyes, "And that Emy is what we called male preference primogeniture, prejudiced pigs," he says more softly than the words warrant.

"But the throne should go to your daughter by right of birth," pointed out the chief counselor. "Even if she is a girl it would not be fair to take away that right."

Even if she is a girl, wow, this has aged poorly, he thinks to himself.

"Ok, so at least the king's chief counselor has at least half a brain. Maybe the king will come out of the story with his head still attached," he says, laughing at himself for saying this all to a baby.

Then he turns to the next page.

\----

The door opens shortly after he finishes reading Rose White and Rose Red, the last quarter of it out loud to himself.

"Jess?" Rory whispers into the apartment.

"She's only just settled back to sleep," he explains as she turns in their direction.

"You want me to take her?" she asks, sitting down on the other side of the couch, "Dessert is about to start." He won't miss much; dessert will linger on for hours after the first pies are cut.

He shakes his head, ignoring what being mostly alone with Rory is doing to his very recently achieved calm. He can hear his breathing change, and he wonders if she can feel all the words they need to say heavy in the space between them. He won't push, though, especially since she's shown no indication that she's really ready to talk about it.

Feeling more tired himself just from looking down at Emy peacefully asleep on his chest, he says, answering her question, "We're fine here, I'm exhausted too, drove back from Maine early today, but I barely had any sleep in Portland last night, and instead of sleeping when I got in earlier, I watched the parade with Doula." He doesn't mention that his lack of sleep was primarily caused both by the anticipation of what she may have to say and the fierce feeling of longing that is all a part of missing being where he should be.

A look of sympathy settles on her face along with a mocking smile as she says, "Your poor ears, all those current top forty hits."

He shakes his head slowly and waves her concern off. "It's alright, I wanted to, I really liked the balloons when I was younger, and Doula does too," he explains, watching for her reaction, knowing it's something that seems a bit uncharacteristic for him.

"Which was your favorite?" she asks skeptically like she doesn't quite believe him.

"Snoopy, any version," he answers quickly, watching a smile grow on her face.

"Kindred spirit?" she wonders out loud. At his confused expression, she explains further, "The typewriter; It was a dark and stormy night."

He has to laugh at that. "Possibly." He never thought too much of it before, "I went and watched them inflate the balloons once. I must have been eleven maybe," he adds softly, caught up in his memories.

Interrupting his thoughts, she asks, curious, "What were you doing in Portland? I thought you didn't handle distribution anymore."

"I still have to do it a couple of times a year. The murder mystery you edited from about a year ago, she's from Maine," he explains, "I was helping her get the book in as many independent book stores there as possible for the last few days, made some good contacts for the press," he finishes his words peter off as he needs to breathe.

"The one with the knitting needles?" she asks curiously, "Wilma Harvey, right?"

"Yeah," he says, surprised that she remembers the author's name. She must have done the initial edit the month of or the month before Gilmore Girls was published.

"That one was really creepy," she says, closing her eyes, remembering the same passage that made his skin crawl probably, "Her description of the needle sticking out of that old lady's eye, well the Knit-a-Thon's will never be the same for me again." He never even thought about that.

Then he hears her giggle a little to herself, "Did you ever get her to change the title?" she asks.

Oh, how he wishes he won that particular discussion. "Nope, the pun stayed; Knit One, Pearl Two hits shelves the first week of December," he says; he's had to say that title seriously so many times over the last four days.

She continues to laugh beside him, the sound making him smile at the joy it causes within him. "It's not the worst one I've seen," she says, and he knows it isn't, but to his knowledge, it's the worst one they've ever actually published.

Rory leans closer, placing a hand on Em's head and running her fingers through her soft hair. The little girl is asleep down the center of his chest; she's going to have the imprints of at least two of his shirt buttons down the left side of her face when she wakes up next.

Meeting Rory's eyes, he says, "Hey, don't miss dessert. You go back down, but have Luke save me a slice of his apple pie, though," doing his best to assure her that he's alright.

She can clearly tell he's not saying everything. "Of course. You're sure?" she asks, giving him one last chance to say what's missing. She's gotten so much better at reading him over the past two years, not to mention confident when gently pushing him to share with her what he's thinking.

He shrugs his shoulders a little, knowing he's been seen. Taking a deep breath, he explains, "I'm looking to escape the sanatorium sentence I'll be given if I spend another ten minutes sitting next to TJ. It's quiet, I need that right now, and this couch is really much more comfortable than I remember."

She nods, a sympathetic smile grows on her lips. "That's how it lures you in, you know," his confusion must show as she explains further, "the more tired you are, the more comfortable it seems."

That makes him smile because he knows from experience that she's right. 'I'll keep that in mind," he says sincerely as she gets up to leave. It doesn't mean that he's not going to fall asleep minutes after she leaves.

He follows her with his eyes as she walks to the door. Turning to look at him, she asks, concerned, "Too many people?"

The answer is yes, but not in the way she means. "It's not today," he explains, wanting her to know, "it's been too many people since Maine, and I've been away from anywhere I feel really like myself for days." He likes people, he can deal with people, get the work done and the deals made, but that type of energy doesn't come naturally to him; he needs somewhere afterward to just be himself again, which is something he didn't have on this trip. He's on edge, and he doesn't want to be.

She seems amazed suddenly, taking a step back towards him, blinking, and her eyes flash with sudden emotion as they widen. "I understand," she says so softly he almost misses it. Maybe he read her lips; he's not sure.

Then she's slowly stepping away, a pleased look on her face as she turns and steadily walks to the door. Closing it carefully behind her to make as little noise as possible.

\----

He wakes up slowly, then suddenly, as he feels someone shake his arm.

Opening one eye just enough to see who's there, she says, "Hey," with a smile when she notices his eyelid lift.

"My grandma wants to see Em before she leaves for the inn," she says, clearly enough that he can understand what she needs from him.

He sighs, taking his hands from Emy's back and lifting the still sleeping girl off of him gradually. "Can't keep her from her eponym now, can we?" he says, with a yawn.

Rory nods her head in agreement, taking her from him in an effortless shift of child. "Nope, and I'd really rather she not come up here and pick over the state of the apartment," she admits looking around at the mostly clean space around them.

Yes, there are piles of paper on her half of the desk, manuscripts on one side, research for her latest articles on the other, a few dishes in the sink, and books scattered around on most flat surfaces, but in no way would he consider it something to be spoken of. However, he is not Emily Gilmore, so what does he know.

He can only nod and sympathize. "That's a very good idea; she'd probably be loud about it too, right?" he wonders as he speaks. Knowing the answer as he asks the question.

"Yeah," she says regretfully, leaning her head on the back of the couch, momentarily relaxing with him but not before pointing out the dark spot of baby drool that's on his shirt.

Watching her like this brings a smile to his lips before he replies, "Then please, keep your grandma as far away as possible."

She grunts in amused agreement, her eyes closing as Em starts to wake up in her arms.

He shifts to get in a more comfortable position, and when he looks back at them, she's studying him so thoroughly. His eyes move to Em, and yes, she does have his shirt buttons imprinted on one side of her face, he points them out to Rory, and she runs a finger over them, and he watches her smile.

His impulse at this moment is to lean over and kiss her again, but he doesn't. His mind reminding him that he already kissed her out of the blue once already, and that's more than enough until they both find the right time to talk about it.

But he can tell that she knows he's thinking about it just from the way she's looking at him, and maybe she's thinking about kissing him too.

It's at least 20 seconds before either of them shift at all.

He takes a deep breath and steadies himself before he asks, "Can you tell them all downstairs that I'm asleep?"

"Already done," she says quietly as she gets up from the couch, Emy holding on to her tightly.

Her attention shifts to Emy in her arms, and she spins around happily as they move towards the door.

\----

"Emy, do you want some carrots and sweet potatoes?" he hears Rory ask. It's almost like a dream, but he knows it isn't. He's in that weird state of sleep where his brain is suddenly awake, but his body is asleep.

"Open up," he can picture them right now at the small table in the kitchen, Em in her highchair, bib on as Rory tries to get as much food to stay in her mouth as possible.

He hears the conversation continue, "More, you want more?" Rory asks, then the quiet that follows.

He hears a pleased hum before Rory says, "Yup, that's it, good."

Then his name is said loudly, almost too loudly, "Jessssss," his body almost waking up in reaction to it.

"Yes, you're right;" she says in a soft voice, "Jess is here, so we should be quieter," she explains, "Did you know he used to live here with Grandpa Luke? Probably how he's able to get to sleep so quickly up here," she tells her, and while she's not wrong exactly there's much more to it.

"Momma? Jesssss food," Emy asks louder than ever; he can picture her pointing at him as she says it.

"Emy quiet, Jess ate already, and now he's sleeping," she says softly. Em knows quiet, but she's just ignoring the direction right now.

Or maybe not, he thinks as he hears Emy say extremely softly, "Momma more."

"Oh, you want more? Which one?" Rory asks, sounding happy to let her choose.

"Carrots, you want carrots and not sweet potato?" he can hear the badly vailed sound of surprise and betrayal in Rory's voice. Hell, even he understands, who would pick carrots when sweet potato was an option.

"Yeah, they're really good, aren't they," she says, and he wonders if Emy can detect sarcasm in her mother's voice yet.

\----

A while later, his mostly asleep brain registers a familiar weight being laid down across his torso. His arms immediately and instinctively shifting to her back, keeping her safely cradled in place.

He can feel himself being watched before a gentle voice says, "Sleep well, loves," then after a few seconds, the sound of a kiss somewhere near him, then a moment later a quick brush of warm lips against his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Volume of Fairy Tales that Jess is reading is: Grimm's Fairy Tales Retold By Shirley Goulden my family copy is from 1960. Text for the story taken directly from the book.
> 
> Comments, Questions, and Kuddos are my greatest motivation to write more. Please consider doing the things.


	3. Chapter 3

This time, he's waking up to his name a quiet, "Jess...Jess," as he feels someone press into his thigh gently, which he ignores.

"Jess?" he hears again a minute later, this time a little louder, as Rory presses a bit harder before pulling away entirely with her foot.

Turning in the direction of her voice. Rubbing at his eyes, he says, "I'm awake. I'll get up," so unsure of what she needs from him when he hears her laughter in reaction. Reaching down again for Em and only opening his eyes when he realizes she's no longer sleeping on him.

"Em?" he asks, half-awake and so confused at where she could be.

She says as if it should be obvious, "I put her to bed an hour ago."

Looking at Rory now, he knows she's gotten comfortable. Her makeup taken off, a layer of some cream on her face, she's changed into what looks like warm flannel pajamas, hair loose around her face. She's sitting next to him with her back resting against the arm of the couch, facing him. Knees up, legs covered in a blanket, taking up two-thirds of the couch, an empty cup on the ledge behind her. She's been there a while.

But why is she ready for bed this early?

His confusion must show, so she points to the nearest window; when he looks and sees how dark it is outside, he's honestly shocked. "You've been out for a while," she says, "it's almost 8," pointing at the clock.

7:45? How is that possible? It was around 1:30 when he first came up here.

Covering his face with his hands and yawning loudly while trying to do the math, he's been asleep for at least five hours. He does feel better than he has for days, though.

Sighing, he shrugs his shoulders and says, dropping his hands onto his lap, "You have to appreciate tryptophan for doing its job," but he's curious suddenly, "Why did you wake me up when you did?"

"I tried to wake you up earlier, but you didn't respond; your tea went cold," she says, pointing beyond his shoulder; but now it's getting late," she's radiating the same sense of warm steadiness that she did when they were younger, "I should have done more to get you up sooner. But you looked peaceful, and you were already so tired," she says, adding to the explanation with a smirk on her lips before she returns to reading whatever is in her lap, the cover hidden by her knees.

Silence takes over them as he watches her read, as he sips on the cold green tea she made for him to get the staleness out of his mouth. There's no look of concentration on her face; she's turning pages quickly, not actually reading, skimming something then, and not making notes at all. So not work, he thinks; it's something she's read before.

"What are you re-reading?" he asks, putting the mug back on the side table and startling her slightly at the sudden question.

"Howl," she answers, not looking up at him, but a slight blush rises on her face.

Now that gets his attention. "Is that the copy with my angry teenage annotations in the margins?" he wonders.

Unable to hide his shock when she says, "Yes," closing it and showing him the worn paperback but holding a finger inside to keep her place.

He runs two fingers along the broken spine and notices where the cover has torn in two places after all these years. "Chris and Matt can never see this," he says with a laugh; if they ever did, he'd never hear the end of it.

"Any particular reason for this part of memory lane tonight?" he asks, looking up from the book, his heart suddenly in his throat as he watches her.

"Yes," she says as she lets the book go, passing it to him and meeting his stare. He hasn't held this book in years or even seen it on her shelves. There's always been a part of him that expected she would have gotten rid of it after he left one too many times, but here it is, proving him wrong.

"Plenty of reasons, mostly doing some thinking," she says with a shrug after a minute. That stops him from saying anything else. If she's still thinking, he should go. He won't push.

Continuing to watch her, she just smiles at him, arching an eyebrow in an unsaid question he doesn't know how to interpret, let alone answer.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts then," he says, passing her back Howl, even though he doesn't want to, "I should really get to your mom's and Luke's." That's where he's sleeping tonight; it's where his bag is.

"I'll lock up downstairs behind me," he assures her, getting up and lightly squeezing her shoulder before stretching as he heads to the door.

Risking a look at her, she's still on the couch, almost frozen in place, "Night, Rory," he says, reaching for the door.

"Jess, you can stay if you want," she says quickly, pulling the blanket off and leaving Howl on his now empty cushion, and suddenly it's like he can't make himself take one more step away from her. Not that he wants to, he never wants to.

He can only shake his head, stopping her before she can stand. "Trust me, it's not a matter of not wanting to stay with you," he explains, trying to be as obvious about how he feels as possible.

He sees the moment of understanding as it dawns on her. "I trust you. I also trust that we'll see you tomorrow," she says expectedly; it's not a question. It's an order. He gives her a nod, and then his instinct to flee takes over, and he's not even aware of himself as he opens the door and closes it behind him.

Taking the stairs two at a time. When he's once again on solid ground, he rushes to his coat where it's hanging on the rack, grabbing it and pulling his keys from the pocket. But before he can unlock the door and leave, he leans his forehead against the molding of the door, causing the bell to ring as he attempts to get his bearings.

So she is still thinking, it's precisely what he wanted her to do.

Did he hope she'd be done by now? Selfishly, yes, but she's not, and that's fine, a bit worrying, but that's alright.

He knows he can't rush her on this; he won't. He told her he wouldn't. It wouldn't be right, and while he still has hope that she's with him, he knows he needs to back off.

Breathing deeply, he puts his coat back up where it was and puts his keys on the nearest table.

It dawns on him that what he just did, fleeing the apartment like that could be seen as him leaving again. He could tell she didn't want him to go. Was her offer to stay her saying she was ready to talk? Why was his instinct to run?

He needs to do something other than think about this.

He itches for a real notebook and a pen, but no good writing has ever been done on an order pad; he's tried, so that is not an option.

Getting up and crossing behind the counter, he pulls a mug out and makes a quick and shitty cup of tea, using the hot water spout from the coffee maker. Only letting it steep for half a minute before popping an ice cube in so it cools down from boiling quickly.

Walking past the doorway to the stairs and over to the illuminated mostly empty dessert case, while doing everything he can to ignore the urge to go back upstairs, he's met at the other end of the counter with the steady hum of the machine, the only sound he can hear.

There are a few things left but what draws him in is the pie plate covered in foil with the post-it on top.

He grins reading the note that starts in Luke's handwriting:

For Jess.

And the second part of the message, but it's been crossed out:

~~Note if not eaten within 48 hours, you forfeit it to Lorelai. Be warned.~~

Then another line, this time underlined:

Saved only for Jess.

He shakes his head, just thinking of Luke's expression as they wrote the note and how happy Luke must be to let him see this. He could have written a new note, but he didn't.

Resting his forehead against the cool glass, he sighs deeply and breathes. How is he still slightly waking up? The cold is helping.

He's overthinking this; he knows he is.

Taking the pie out of the case and pulling the foil off and seeing the slice and a half of apple pie, it takes him barely a moment to decide to eat it now because it looks delicious, he's not letting Lorelai eat it, and mostly cause he knows it will be a welcome distraction for his mind.

Going into the kitchen and lifting it from the glass pie plate into a bowl, he puts it in the microwave for 45 seconds. Stopping it a second early, so the timer doesn't go off. He grabs a spoon, the bowl, and his tea and returns to his table.

He tries to quiet his mind once he sits and instead allows himself to feel and give in to all his emotions as they course through him without any further introspection.

\----

He's done with the pie a couple of minutes later when his phone begins to ring in his pocket.

It's Rory.

In all the time she's been back, he's always taken her calls; it doesn't even occur to him to not answer.

From her side, he can hear her let out a breath before she says, "Hi," then a more tentative, "Can we talk?"

"Rory..." he starts to say, but he's cut off.

"Give me three minutes and promise me you won't end the call early," she's not begging; she's negotiating, but he thinks the terms are very reasonable.

"I can do that," he says into the phone.

He can hear her mild hesitation in her voice as she breathes out, "Jess."

"I promise," he assures her before putting it on speaker and lowering the volume after placing it down on the tabletop.

There's silence on her end, and he has to check that he didn't end the call by mistake.

He didn't, but then her voice comes through clearly, "I'm tired of you leaving us," she says, breathing after like just saying that was difficult, and he understands if it was. He can imagine her sitting across the table from him as they're having this conversation; maybe that will make the urge to get up and go upstairs to her disappear.

He knows it probably won't.

"I'm tired of leaving, but this isn't the same as back then," he says softly, shaking his head; he shouldn't have left so abruptly.

"It still hurts every time," she says, and it feels like a confession, a truth she's never said out loud. "Jess, I've hurt you too, I know I have," and that makes the hair at the back of his neck stand up. They've talked about some of this before, the mistakes and choices they've both made over the years, especially when they were younger. They've forgiven each other, at least he thought they had.

"Yeah," he agrees with a sigh, not bringing anything in particular back up, "we've both done a number on each other."

A breath of a laugh comes through at that. Making him feel better about the direction the conversation is going.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says; I just kept doing it, though, hurting us both, he thinks.

He hears a chair shifting on her end before she says, "It wasn't all hurt and heartbreak though back then," then a pause as she breathes, and he's just waiting until she says, "I was happy with you Jess, I was and now..." she stops suddenly, sounding nervous.

So was I, he thinks, we were happy, giving her a moment for her to find the words she needs.

Maybe that’s their problem; it's not that they don't know how they feel; it's discovering the right words to express themselves that is their problem. There are too many words between them, so many of them said so long ago they're not sure if the sentiment behind them has expired in meaning or not and wondering if they can re-use the same ones again, when so much of them are still true, at least they feel true.

It's a good thing that love is not measured or judged by how you speak or write about it.

It still doesn’t seem right or fair; how come two professional writers can't find the words?

The quiet lasts for too long, and if she's not ready to talk, he doesn't want her to push it. In an attempt to pause the conversation, he says, "Rory, if you're not sure either way, please don't..." but she interrupts him.

"I'm sure Jess," she says, more confidently than any other thing she's said so far, "I've been sure, and I'm not still thinking about this, not in the way you took it at least."

His bursting with anticipation at that, stunned into his own silence.

"Communication was our biggest problem the last time," she says confidently, and he finds himself nodding along with her in complete agreement, "We could talk about anything so easily except for this, us, and how we felt back then."

"That is very true," he barely gets this out. He's shaking. Yes, being emotionally immature comes with being 18 and in love, but it extended so much longer past then than it should have.

"I'd like us to be better being open about it now," she says more softly this time. He has to force himself to breathe.

This time it's him who takes too long in answering her. His mind processing too fast but leading to conclusions that seem too good to be real.

When he finally snaps out of it, he doesn't let himself show all of his emotions. "I do not disagree with anything you've said. We had problems, but I know we can fix them now."

"Good, that's good," she says, and he can hear her smile through the phone. "Jess, up until last week, I thought we were ignoring it on purpose. I mean, we never actually talked about it," he can hear her sigh, "that's the communication issue again, but I thought we were ignoring how we feel."

"How we feel?" he asks, interrupting her, his voice cracking with emotion. A slight heaviness beginning in his eyes. Unshed tears of happiness that this is not all just him.

She laughs, and he closes his eyes and can picture her before she says, "I have been thinking about us for years. But it's been getting more difficult to not act on it being around you so much," he can hear the confidence and the smile on her face as she says, "Since before Em's birthday, before we finished editing your manuscript a month ago, before you kissed me last week, I'd been thinking about doing exactly what you did." She breathes, and he almost laughs he's so relieved, all the tension in his shoulders suddenly gone.

"We never had a real chance before. It was never going to work out back then, and frankly, I don't know if it was supposed to," she says it like it's a fact, and he agrees with that; he's never said it out loud, but he knows it's true. "We were just kids, the timing wasn't right, but now, we..." she stops suddenly.

"Rory, just keep talking to me; I'm here," he tells her, being as supportive as he can from this far away from her.

When she does start again, his heart picks up, and he can hear it beat in his ears, "Jess, if you hadn't kissed me last week, then I would have ignored us for a little while longer, but at a certain point I wouldn't have been able to stop myself either."

"Oh yeah?" he asks, suddenly blushing at the implication and wondering if she's blushing too.

Oh, she has to tease him after that. "Yeah, you just got to that point first," she says, and he can hear the smirk on her face.

There's silence between them, and he almost starts to talk, but she beats him to it. "You know, maybe ten minutes after you left the table today, Doula turned to me in her seat and told me that her big brother smiles more around me than anyone else," she says. He can easily imagine that conversation; Doula has a way of saying things in a bluntly layered way that still surprises him.

He just snorts a laugh into the phone, rubbing his eyes to bush away his tears, "She's an annoyingly observant kid."

"So it's true?" she asks softly.

That makes him confused. "Why did you say that like you didn't know it already?" he asks.

"I don't think I was supposed to know that, Jess," she says, sounding suddenly overwhelmed by that information.

Thinking about it, it makes sense she wouldn't have noticed; when she is in a place to observe him, she's there; she'd have to not be around to make the comparison. "Yeah, I guess you weren't. How could you have?" he says, trying not to feel embarrassed by this.

"You've been very clear about how you feel. Even if you haven't been saying anything, you still haven't exactly been hiding it." she says all too knowingly, "But I thought you were trying to ignore it."

"I was," he admits, this complicates everything for them, but he trusts that it will be worth the risk. "I guess I've never been very good at masking my intentions, have I?" he asks, thinking about how he acted in the past in comparison to how he's behaved recently, both a different type of obvious.

"Jess, I read a couple of books about body language and facial expressions a few months ago," she says, sounding much too smug, and oh, oh wow, she really knew how he felt then.

"And?" he asks, suddenly very nervous for her observations.

He can hear her breathe before she says, "Your eyes always give you away," very simply.

"What about my eyes?" he asks, curious for what she has to say.

"You never want to look away," she says, the "from me" that should have been at the end of that left silent between them.

"You're right, I don't," he admits easily.

He doesn't have to see her to know she's blushing right now.

Her voice is steady as she says, "When you left the table earlier, and when I took Em from you when you were half asleep, you had to stop yourself from kissing me." Her tone all too knowing.

"Rory..." he starts, but she cuts him off.

"I wanted you to kiss me," she says quickly, making his breathing hitch, speechless, that's what he is.

"Every time I see you, I want to kiss you," she tells him softly, and with those words, he knows exactly what he has to do.

"Well, alright then," he says, trying and failing to keep his voice even, "If that’s how you feel, if that's what you want."

Looking down at his phone for the first time in a while, this conversation has taken well over three minutes.

"Jess," she says softly, sighing.

He ends the call there. Standing, putting his phone in his pocket, and ignoring the dishes he's left on the table; he starts to move. With each step, he feels himself get closer towards her.

"Jess?" he barely hears her ask as he reaches the foot of the stairs. She sounds confused.

He probably shouldn't have ended the call like that.

At least he knows exactly how he's going to make it up to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, and Kuddos are my greatest motivation to write more. Please consider doing the things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: There's a section of smut in this. It starts at ------ . If smut is not your thing go to the second ------ to pass it as there is more fluff to be found after it.

The pounding in his chest is more noticeable with every step he takes.

His phone starts to go off again just as he reaches the landing.

No hesitation, he thinks to himself as he opens the door.

Rory is across the apartment at the window, curtain pulled back, looking out over the square, phone to her ear.

There's no great moment between them when she turns towards him, no shocked look on her face, or a pause because he opened the door a little too fast, and it banged into the doorstop.

She puts her phone down, and his own stops.

There are traces of tears that have fallen down her face; he notices that first, but the slight upturn of her lips and current look of happiness in her eyes is what he sees next.

He's beside her in three seconds, enveloping her in a hug because no matter if she's happy now, she's been crying, and he was the reason for most of, if not all of her tears, no matter the emotion that caused them.

"Jess," she says, clinging onto him, her hold unyielding unless it's to take more of his shirt into her hands. Her head, resting against his.

His grip at her back, fingers full of flannel, while no less important, is softer. Pulling away as much as he dares, he starts to wipe at the traces of her tears along with some of the lingering clean-smelling cream that is still on her face with the end of his shirt sleeve.

And she starts to laugh just a bit, possibly at the slight absurdity of the situation or at the very careful way he is touching her face.

Or it's because some of the cream is on his face now, he realizes when she partially lets go of him and wipes it off of his kind of scruffy cheek with her thumb, and rubbing it onto her pajama pants before returning her hand up and keeping hold of the side of his face.

Leaning in again, he silences her laughter, shifting closer and pressing a gentle kiss against her soft lips.

She doesn't still in surprise or hesitate at all before she's matching his growing intensity. Effortlessly guiding his mouth to open for her. Leading him along where she knows from previous experience that he'll eagerly follow, and more than earning the quiet sigh of relief, he breathes into her.

Tentative fingers tangle into his hair on the back of his neck, her nails gently traveling up and scratching his scalp. With each second, she gains more confidence; he loses a little bit more of his control over this moment, which is all but gone when he hears a deep moan from the back of her throat, and he realizes that she still tastes like burning hot, bitter black coffee.

Pulling just a little bit away, and she follows, trying to find his lips again until he rests his forehead against hers. She's warm, so warm. Her fingers, still working away at his head, keeping him from fully catching his breath, not that it matters much to him right now. His attention on her.

Their noses, slightly bumping into each other back and forth as he realizes that they both are still breathing. She pulls back just enough to look at him, letting her hand fall to his shoulder, the other still clinging to him at his back.

A flash of hesitation in her eyes as they shift down to his lips makes him lean in close; he doesn't want her second-guessing anything.

"Who am I to keep you from doing whatever you want?" he asks her, not wanting her to doubt her instincts. They've been serving her very well; he's surprised at his own voice as the words come out, much more desperate and needy than he expected. But maybe he's deluded himself into thinking he'd be more composed at this moment.

She's pressing her lips hungrily onto his, taking what she needs from him. Frustration leaving her with every continued moment being replaced with a satisfaction that is palpable between them.

In that second, he knows for sure she missed this just as much as he did. Every kiss, even when everything else wasn't good between them, it always felt right, and it still does. It's different now, yes, but it still feels right.

They innately knew how to do this from the start last time. Every small movement or sound understood without any doubts, and that still holds true.

After she steps back against the side of a bookcase, the hand on his back slides lower, to the waist of his black jeans. Urging him a half step closer. He follows her direction, surrounding her. Surprised when she pulls on his waist again, the little bit of space between them disappears; she can definitely feel him now.

She's pressing into him on purpose.

"And what do you want?" she asks, the implication of the question clear, her lips leaving his only for a second.

"You," he admits easily, his desire for her slipping out.

Dragging her lips from his, down to his jaw and neck, then a slight nip of her teeth at his pulse before she says, Hi," into the rapid beat.

And that's different; he thinks recognizing the movement, he used to do that to her. Not that it doesn't work both ways because it does, fuck it does.

He cups her face with his hands, needing to see the blush that he's sure has risen on her cheeks.

"Hi," he says in reply seeing the slight pinkness in her face while she tries to calculate something in her mind.

"I keep expecting Luke to show up at any second," he says, trying to make her say anything but hi in reply.

A sly smirk appears on her lips, nodding at him just a little condescendingly before she says, "The probability of that has greatly decreased over the years, I think," her beautiful little laugh coming out at the end.

Guiding her into another kiss, this one much shorter than the last. When she breaks it, she looks like she just figured something out, blue eyes wide in surprise.

When ten seconds have passed, and she's still just looking at him like she knows something he doesn't, he feels completely silly. "Rory, please talk," he urges, "if you want to say something, you should."

"You didn't actually leave, did you? You were downstairs the whole time," she says as if she's stating a fact she's sure of.

Which amuses him to no end; she's so smart. "How do you know that?" he asks, curious.

"You got here so fast, and you taste like apple pie and black tea," she explains gleefully, proud of her discovery.

"Yeah," he starts, "I managed to stop myself at the door. Needed some time to think myself." Looking down and not meeting her eyes as he says it. Shrugging, he continues, "It's not productive, running when you're scared," it's not until he actually says it out loud does he realize what happened when he got downstairs, what he hadn't let himself think about in the past week.

"Scared?" she asks, knocking her forehead lightly into his own, making him lock eyes with her, asking for more from him. Open communication, he reminds himself, it's what they need.

The explanation is heavy on his tongue until the words escape, "Being hurt and hurting you scares me. Ruining our friendship scares me. It always has," he finishes. Noticing every little movement of her face, lips going a bit narrow, eyebrows lifting as he spoke, the concern in her blue eyes reading him so easily.

She opens her mouth like she's about to say something but all that comes out is a heavy exhale, breaking the silence for a second.

Lips are pressed against his cheek, then to his lips instead, and he gives in to it, all the support she's offering him.

"Please just talk to me when you're scared," she says, transforming the hold she's kept on him into a really nice comforting hug, "Please just talk to me." It's said like an offer more than anything else, something she needs him to understand.

He just finds her eyes then, making it clear to her that he knows with a small nod of his head.

"It's the first thing I wrote down, you know," she says, making him so many different levels of confused.

"You wrote it down?" he asks curiously for an explanation.

She lets go of him then, pushing him with her hands on his hips, so he takes a step back, and she crosses to his side of their desks. He follows immediately. She sits down on the desktop and motions for him to sit down on the chair in front of her.

She holds a piece of paper in her hands, just out of easy reach. "What do you think I did in the time between when you left tonight and me calling you?" she asks, teasing him, not letting him see it yet.

"You made a pro-con list in less than twenty minutes?" he asks, laughing, "I don't know if I'm insulted or impressed."

"No, it's just a list," she says, amused, shaking her head slowly, bringing it slightly closer to him while reading, "some talking points, things that I needed to say or we should talk about, a few things we still have to cover."

She offers him the paper. It's half-filled with her handwriting; for her, this was clearly written in a rush, not nearly as precise and well-spaced as she usually writes. Nothing is numbered, but the first thing written right at the top is a single word: Communication. The bluntness of it makes him laugh.

Reading down the list:

How did I not realize he was leaving? Where was his bag? Must get answer finally.

Timing was always bad. But not now. Right person. Wrong time then? The right time now?

The next thing written makes his eyes pause, reading it over and over, unbelieving that he's actually reading those words. The rest of the list suddenly irrelevant.

Eventually, he continues down to the next line: He loves you. Again???, with its three question marks is a bit concerning.

But his eyes drift up one line again, and those words are still there.

Putting the list down on the desk, he points to it, the fourth line, suddenly nervous before he quietly asks, “Can you say this one?"

A smile grows on her lips when she sees what he's talking about. "Jess," she begins, taking his hand in hers and lacing their fingers together, looking at him with such calmness in her eyes, "I'm in love with you," she says simply, then with more emotion, "I love you."

Holding on to her hand tethers him to this moment, willing himself to commit it to memory. He can't forget this; he won't let himself. A heaviness starts to gather at the corners of his eyes.

She suddenly seems shy beside him, gently squeezing her hand, brings her back. She shrugs before she says, "We were so young," he watches her trying to decide her next words, taking a calming breath before she continues, "But my heart, a part of it has been just yours since then. There's always been something between us, no matter how long we go without each other, I'm more myself when I'm with you," a tear falls down her left cheek, she wipes it away, "I can't keep this distance anymore, however little it is, it hurts too much. I want to be with you."

She's barely broken eye contact with him this entire time, but she does for just a moment, and he's about to stand up and hold her, to reassure her he's there, but then he's caught in her blue eyes again. "It's infinity more complicated now, but we're still in a better place to be in a relationship now than we ever were before," she says it like she's trying to convince him; he doesn't need to be convinced, "We've both changed, we grew up. We can work this time if we both try. I think we're ready for what this will be."

He's up off the chair as she finishes, directly in front of her. She hops down from the desk before she reaches for him and wipes away the tears from the corner of his eyes, the ones that never actually fell, while his thoughts move too fast for his tongue.

So he leans in and kisses her as he wraps his arms around her waist, quieting his thoughts from everything that isn't her, warm, brilliant, captivating, beautiful, and incredibly brave in front of him. A short groan escapes her before he lets her take over the kiss entirely, she pulls his lower lip between her teeth, biting gently down on the side he can't feel, but at the moment he swears, he feels everything she's doing to him.

"Rory," he says as he breaks the kiss.

She shakes her head, "You don't have to say it."

At this point, how can she think he won't want to say it? That he wouldn't be dying to say it to her again. If she asked him to right now, he'd shout it in the town square; that's how much he wants to say it.

"That's not it," he starts with a soft sigh of an exhale, "there's so much I need to say, and I don't know where to start. I..."

But she interrupts him with a small giggle. An amused look in her eyes, of course, she understands; she knows how he is when it comes to talking about his feelings.

"Just start," she suggests. "It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be true," she urges, and her words steady him, his thoughts slow again as he thinks about it like she said. He knows he can do that.

He's pulled in for a second, a quick kiss placed on his lips, then a couple just to the edge of where he can feel them.

"One of the things that confuses people most about me is how I can believe so deeply that love at first sight is real," he says, watching her smile, wondering, not for the first time is she can replay that first minute they met in her mind just like he can. "I want this, you, I want to be with you. You're impossible and incredible and impressive and," looking at her hear him is overwhelming, his tongue feels heavy as he says, "having you in my life again at all has been wonderful. Still, I can't go back to ignoring how much you mean to me," he gets this out after a breath when she's shifted closer to him again.

"And you want all of what this is?" she asks, her voice hopeful, her warm hands cupping his face, gently prompting him to continue, but her meaning is clear. She's showing a little insecurity he knew was there, but he doesn't see any sort of issue.

"Yes," he says smiling, "I do. I wouldn't risk our friendship if I didn't. I wouldn't do that to you both," he says, taking her hands from his face and holding them in his reverently before he breathes again.

Looking at her hopeful face, an expression he's seen far too many times in her eyes. "Rory, let me love you," he's not begging or asking permission to be in love; that's not an option; he's asking for her to trust him with her heart again.

He watches her take in his words, and her enthusiastic nod seconds later in response gives him such relief and the courage to continue speaking, "You're right. We have grown up, changed from when we first fell in love. That's not a bad thing. If we were the same after all this time, it would mean we never learned anything."

She holds tighter onto his hands as he continues, getting past the lump in his throat, "But you still see me for who I am, and I love you for who you are. Rory, I loved you then, and I love you now. I've missed you so much for so long."

The next breath she takes is a large one. "It's not the same as it was before, though," her voice quiet.

That's a good thing as far as he's concerned. "You're right; it's better this time," he says, but she's already shaking her head.

Looking into his eyes, he sees her figure out what to say, "Yes, but that's not what," she takes a breath, looking in the direction of the nursery door, "I meant, Emily, she's..." but she stops instead, looking at him and asking him silently to finish her thought.

"She's such an important part of this; I know that," he says, taking hold of her elbows, stepping closer before he says, "I know what being in this with you means. Rory, don't you know how I love you both?" She has to have seen it, his devotion to them.

The look in her eyes tells him a lot. She does know, but she's just in need of reassurance; she needs to hear it out loud that he understands before she can believe it.

"I've only loved one other person so quickly," he admits pointedly, resting his forehead on her own making her smile, "Emily, she has a claim on me in a way I didn't know was possible," he confesses, remembering meeting her, less than hour old.

He'll never be sure what happened to his heart that day, if something shifted, or was unlocked in himself, or if his heart really did grow three sizes to accommodate his feelings. As he held her for the first time, this impossibly tiny perfect person, he instantly loved her unconditionally. But looking back, he was always going to love her. What surprised him the most that day was what he hadn't expected to feel. The almost immediate bond, along with the overwhelming joy, protectiveness, and loyalty that snuck up on him an hour later, holding her to his chest as both Emily and Rory slept peacefully. Lorelai and Luke having left to find food and better coffee.

He cried that day, so much it almost rivaled Emily's own tears. He cried silently, holding the little girl, who didn't know it, but she was already missing half her family, Logan and Odette, only just getting on a plane from London. The rest of them mostly ignoring her existence. Logan missing her birth and the first twenty hours of Emily's life had been a choice he made, and he's sure Logan won't ever forgive himself for it, and he knows for a fact that Rory never will. Another father who could've been there but wasn't when it mattered most.

He cried for Rory, utterly exhausted after seventeen hours of labor but so strong and fierce because she had to be. Still having enough in her to banish a quite well-behaved (for them) Finn, Colin, and Robert after only a short ten-minute visit, without needing a word from anyone else, including an overly protective Paris. He admires Rory's inner strength, but he wondered that day if she would falter in the weeks ahead, when the adrenaline dipped, and she felt she was alone. Determining that he'd just be there to support her when it happened in however way he could, so he was.

Then he stopped crying, and selfishly he thought about Jimmy, how he left him and Liz, with a lie on his lips, and it hurt more that day than it ever did before. The differences between them even more of a stark comparison than usual. He and Luke had to be convinced by Rory and Lorelai to leave, and all he wanted to do is go back to the hospital, to them, the first moment he could. He understands being terrified of a situation, but if Jimmy felt even a fraction of what he experienced holding Emily - he still can't make that add up in his mind.

Rory, lacing their fingers together, brings him out of his memories.

His voice rough as he says, "What we went through, who we each lived without, she won't know what that's like. He'll be around sometimes, but I'll be here." It's a promise he's capable of making and keeping. He's not like Jimmy; he never was.

With joy-filled eyes as big as saucers, she looks at him stunned, clearly understanding his meaning. The silent question of "Why?" appears momentarily in her eyes before it disappears because she already knows the answer.

"I want to," he says softly, bringing her closer, forehead to forehead meeting her eyes still, "I know what you both need me to be, and that is not something I'm scared of." It should, but it doesn't.

"I'm not her father, but I love her like she's mine," it's an incredible feeling, admitting the extent of his feelings to her. He feels like his whole soul is on display for her to see. But that's alright. If anyone should see all of him, it's her. She's always understood him best.

"Jess," she says, her voice cracking on her breath followed by a small laugh as she hugs him, her hand at his back, bringing him even closer, no space separating them now as he closes the distance between their lips.

This kiss is easy, a simple, balanced back and forth between them, not gaining intensity, sweet from the start. Pausing twice for a quick breath, each time continuing on unchanged. If it were possible for a kiss to be sustained between two people forever, it could only be with a kiss like this.

He only breaks the kiss because the tears that have been threatening to fall from her eyes have transferred on to his cheek — wiping her tears away before doing the same to his face when he realizes that it's not her tears but that he's started to cry too.

Clearing his throat after he places his hands onto her shoulders, he says quietly, "So yes, Rory, I love you. I know what this is, and I want it," taking a breath before he continues, "It's where I should be, here with you both."

Tucking her head into his shoulder, she says "Yes," into the collar of his blue corduroy shirt again and again.

He just holds her, as fiercely as she holds him, beyond when she's stopped repeating "Yes." The mutual quiet lingering on comfortably within them both. Anchored to each other, unwilling to let the moment slip away.

"You didn't have to make me cry," she complains, with a small crack of a laugh into his neck after a few minutes.

"I'm sorry," he says automatically, but he doesn't regret anything he's said.

She laughs again, shaking her head before a quiet sigh leaves her lips, and she says, "I'm not, communication, right?" Then she pulls back just a bit to look him in the eye, "We both needed to hear each other and to say what we did."

He nods in agreement, watching a smile grow on her lips. A huff of a laugh escapes her as she leans in and presses a kiss to his jaw before she says, "And you were worried," sounding slightly amused. "How many times have you written a love confession again?" she asks as if that would be helpful in the real world.

"Five times," he says, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks, thankful she's not looking at him at the moment, "But that's different. We're writers Rory, we live and die in the edit. That's where I'm comfortable, obsessing over every word. Making sure nothing can be misinterpreted or read in a way I don't want." It's happened enough in his life; his characters don't have to experience it as well. Shrugging his shoulders, suddenly nervous, he says, "Besides, you know the verbal thing and me, we're not always friends."

"I know," she says, bringing a hand up to gently touch his neck. "Did you know you're sexy when you talk about writing like that?" she asks, pure curiosity in her voice, and afterward, she runs her thumb along his lips.

Suddenly relaxed again, the tension that was rising in his shoulders gone, and all he can do is lean in and whisper, "I didn't actually," before he kisses the pad of her thumb, meeting her eyes as she pulls away just a bit, her hand resting on his neck.

She laughs in his arms, shaking them both gently, then suddenly she stills, "Wait, five times," she says, and his only thought is that he was hoping she wouldn't do the math on that, "Are there some early works of yours I've never read before?" She sounds so hopeful; she's going to be disappointed.

"There were," he says, watching her eyes and shaking his head, "they were unreadable and terribly derivative, and before you ask, I don't even have those notebooks anymore anyway." Her questioning eyes make him add, "I burned them a long time ago."

"So dramatic," she says, gently teasing him. "What were they derivative of?" and her question catches him off guard.

He just stays silent as a means of response.

"I can make it worth your while," she softly says, tempting him for less than a second.

"Nope," he replies, "I won't be convinced," knowing she'll drop it after this. She understands how private he is with his writing. It's true that she's one of the very few to see his raw chapters, but this is so far beyond what he even wants to think about anymore.

"Alright," she sighs, only a small pout on her lips, just slightly disappointed then. She has mentioned she misses reading his chapters. He wishes he had something to write, even just to amuse her.

The fourteen pages he's managed over the past six weeks could be something, but it's like pulling teeth trying to get it down.

"So..." she starts, getting his attention again, "we're in love."

"It certainly seems that way," he says, grinning and trusting that it will make her laugh.

And she does, the sound of it softly ringing between them as she tangles her hand into the back of his hair, his eyes closing instantly before she begins to slightly run her nails into his scalp, the feeling of it incredible as she says, "Stay, please." It's an offer more than a question.

"Alright," he replies, trying to keep his breathing even; she could have just said it plainly she didn't have to tease his scalp. Not that he minds it because it feels too fucking good right now.

He needs to know how far she wants this to go tonight before she gets any further with her hands on him. "We don't have to do anything," he says, the small moan he lets out, letting her know what exquisite torture she's doing to him. "We could just sleep," he adds as her fingers still.

Opening his eyes to find her looking at him intently, a smirk on her lips, "No Jess, we've waited so long. Not another night," she says, resting her forehead against his.

Her hands leave him for a moment, and when they return, she's unbuttoning his top shirt button. When she moves down one, she asks, "Downstairs is locked?" in an even tone.

He nods as she continues down another. Pausing and holding onto the fabric as she pulls a little bit away, playing with the collar of his black undershirt, she says, "Then you should do the same to that door and take your shoes off." It's not in any way a suggestion, and it brings a smile to his face.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies cheesily, purposely letting his lips curl into a smirk in her direction.

An amused groan escapes her lips, "Why does that work?" she asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"Because it's me you're in love with," he responds, making her laugh deep down to her stomach.

Nodding her head in agreement as she closes the space between them again, her hand on his shoulder, she says, "Yeah, it is," before pressing her lips against his.

The kiss only lasts seconds, but he can feel the need between them. Following her lips as she ends the kiss, a second more is all he gets.

"I'll be right back," she says, leaving his arms, "I just want to wash my face."

"Besides the shoes, do you want me to finish..." he trails off, gesturing to himself and, more specifically, his clothes.

"No, no, I want to undress you myself and keep your socks on; I'm very against icicle feet," she says, overtly eyeing him up and down, and he does the same to her as she heads past her bed and into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Fighting his own nerves, he busies himself, locking the door, taking off his shoes, shutting off a few of the lights, and plugging in her phone into the charger by the bed. Leaving his own next to hers so it can charge next.

When she still hasn't reappeared, he goes to the kitchen sink, washes his hands, and grabs a glass before pouring himself a full cup of water and drinking half in three gulps.

Closing his eyes, he tries to gather himself a bit, no doubt what she's doing too, he thinks. It's the logical conclusion.

Then he hears the door open, each step she takes in his direction—her standing next to him again. Taking the cup from him, their fingers brushing, she finishes the last of it before putting it on the counter.

Her thumb suddenly running along his lips, making them part. He'd been biting his bottom lip, and he hadn't realized.

Opening his eyes and seeing her, a bit of concern in her expression before she smiles and says, "Serious face," in a slightly questioning voice.

He just returns her grin at the teasing.

"Don't be scared, ok?" she says, leaning in undoing two more of his shirt buttons, her breath against his lips, "I'll be gentle."

Raising an eyebrow, he replies, "Not too gentle,” wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Meeting her lips where they are, so close to his.

Guiding them away from the sink, she realizes where they are headed after a few steps, breaking the kiss. "The couch, really?" she asks, obviously amused.

"We'll get over there eventually," he says, gesturing with his head to her bed, "but indulge me and my old teenage fantasies for a few minutes?" he asks, trusting that the way he said it will make her laugh.

It does, the happy sound flooding his ears, making his heart light.

"Shouldn't I be wearing my old uniform for this then?" she asks, pressing a kiss into his neck, her teeth following for a second before she soothes it with another kiss.

He just shakes his head, "No, you shouldn't."

She asks, "Why?" while undoing the last two buttons of his shirt. Pulling it out from where it's tucked into his jeans, she pushes it off his shoulders and down his arms. The one arm coming free easily, the other getting stuck on his watch. He goes to get it off, but she takes his wrist, removing his watch in seconds.

Finishing getting his shirt off, he lets it drop to the floor behind him as he backs her up against one of the arms of the couch, and she puts his watch down gently on the side table.

"It had too many layers," he says softly as she pulls him in even closer to her. She has to be able to feel him now.

"Too impatient?" she asks, her hand taking his and bringing it up to the first buttons of her pajama shirt.

Undoing the first button, he nods and says, "When we were eighteen, yes, absolutely." Earning him a smile and a laugh as he continues down doing the same for the second button, noticing now the thin blue tank top she has on underneath.

"And now?" she wonders aloud, her lips tantalizingly close to his, her exhale like a gentle wind against his skin.

"I'm very willing to wait if anticipation makes it better," saying it practically against her lips but pulling back as he finishes talking.

"Good answer," she says, her eyes traveling between meeting his own gaze and then his lips, her lips against his for a moment before she breaks the contact and says, "But right now don't you think years worth of anticipation is enough?" and he can only nod in reply.

Suddenly looking behind her, she reaches back and takes Howl from where it was on the cushion and puts it down on the side table before spinning them and then guiding them towards the cushions. He sits down in the middle of the couch, and then she follows, straddling him.

After he finishes the rest of her buttons, he watches her toss it in the direction of the bed, too preoccupied with her before him to notice where it actually landed on the floor.

This part of it for them is familiar. Many a ten-minute interval was spent on this couch, lips connected and hands daring to find skin at every touch instead of fabric.

Lips finding each other, and because she's on top of him, her hair falls into his face. Tucking one section of it behind her ear, he can feel her smile against his lips. Her tongue slides along his lips, and he follows the silent request, letting her in further.

Cradling her face in one hand, the other toying a little with one of the thin straps of her shirt. A shiver runs through her, goosebumps rising on her arms. Feeling her moan as he runs one hand down her arm, trying to warm her up as the other lets the strap go and flips some of her hair behind her shoulder.

Her fingers lace together at the back of his neck, tugging a little at the small amount of hair that got stuck between them before pulling him forward, bringing him deeper into the kiss, but slowing the moment of their lips—gently biting his bottom lip.

Breathing deeply before she asks, "Would you have been upset if the first time you came up here after we moved in if the couch was gone?"

Pretending to think for maybe three seconds, "Utterly devastated," he says so seriously in reply, making her laugh and collapse into his chest as she tries to steady herself, her head next to his and her hands coming to rest on his upper arms. Wrapping his arms around her, he closes his eyes, just enjoying being this close.

"You are beautiful," he says, sliding his hands under the hem of her shirt and just continuing to hold her where she is.

"Your eyes are closed," she says, a soft press of lips to the edge of his eye, one then the other.

He can only smile, "As if having my eyes closed stops me from knowing how beautiful you are," he says, feeling her still above him, but then there's another kiss, this one to his lips.

It only lasts seconds before he's breaking the kiss and opening his eyes, the need to see her too great. "You were planning on talking to me tonight?" he asks, taking his hands from her back and reaching up to take her own from his arms, holding them, lacing their fingers together.

"I hoped we'd talk tonight, maybe get here, yes," she says, nodding her head gently.

"So why the layers?" he asks, genuinely curious, but her reaction isn't what he expected. She looks suddenly nervous, but she makes no move to shift away.

"It's cold and..." she starts, but she stops and shakes her head, "Jess, I'm..." she takes a breath and finally says, "I haven't been with anyone, not since..." looking at the nursery door she leaves him to fill in the blank. Not since Emy, possibly not since she was pregnant, and her sudden awkwardness is explained, but also not at the same time, so it's been a while.

That's when it hits him; he's such an idiot. Fuck! The tank top, she's insecure right now.

His first thought is how and his second is remembering that insecurities aren't necessarily rational or logical.

He presses an innocent kiss to her forehead. "Rory," he says, pulling back, "As much and as far as you want." He hopes the words he's promised her years ago helps make her feel like she's in control of this because she is.

"And what if I want everything with you?" she asks, sounding and appearing more confident than she was a minute ago.

"Then we should get started, don't you think?" he says, watching her smile as she nods.

He follows the fabric up, cupping the underside of her breast and thumbing just under her already hard nipple. She leans into the attention, but the hitch in her breath doesn't go unnoticed.

"You alright?" he asks, pausing the motion.

She both shakes and nods her head, "Just sensitive," she says.

"Sensitive in a good way?" he asks, curious.

Taking his other hand from where it is on her back, she brings it up as she says, "Yes, sometimes, keep going" she says it almost like a challenge, lifting one eyebrow before she kisses him. His other hand finishing what she started, softly holding her other breast.

In an experimental touch, he slows down, just making circles over the fabric with his thumbs. She nods, and he just continues, every so often using his fingernail instead. Kissing up her neck to the underside of her jaw and feeling her pulse against his upper lip.

She starts to grind against him, the small gasps escaping her lips bring up sweet memories. The only times they ever got close to this was a couple of times in the dark in the backseat of his old car. Denim against denim, just watching her find what she needed against him. Her own fingers helping herself while his stayed respectfully on her back or her hips keeping them close.

Stopping when she shifts, she takes the straps of her shirt and pulls them down her arms enough that she can tug her shirt past her breasts.

He kisses her shoulder as he continues as he was before, fabric gone; he can tell how much more this is doing for her.

"We should lie down," she says after a minute, slowly moving back from him—a hand on his shoulder urging him to move with her.

When they settle, she's beneath him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug as her lips land on his cheek. He can feel the smile of her lips against his skin.

After that, her hand slides up, first to his neck, then into his hair; she knows what she's doing, her nails into his hair.

Making him moan against her skin, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips are, then shifting, brushing soft, barely-there kisses down her neck in the way she used to love.

Scratch that, still loves, high-pitched needy sounds escaping her mouth at the attention. The hand she still had around him, reaching down tugging him closer to her, her hand now in his back pocket.

"Jess," she whines, and that has him off of her neck in a second so he can look at her.

Her eyes look a little unfocused as she opens them. "You want more?" he asks, pleased to see the extent of what he's doing to her so transparent on her face, just like it probably is on his own.

A nod in reply, but she does say, "Don't let me get too loud." The meaning of that warning, making so much sense to him suddenly. Minimize possible interruptions.

"Yes," he says against her lips, "Alright, alright."

"More Jess," she sounds so needy as she says it.

\------

Kissing her quickly before he asks, "How do you want this?"

"Need your fingers first," she says into his ear. Her voice is low and rough and fuck somehow so damn resonant in him he has to pause and breathe.

Shifting so he's practically hovering over her while she lowers her leg off the couch, giving him more room, he's about to lick his fingers when she takes hold of his hand, guiding him down under the waistband of her pajamas and underwear. Finding her soaking, ready.

Her eyes silently pleading him for so much, he's going to get to give her everything.

Her hand moving his down further, so he's just holding her there. Rubbing the outside of her a little, just barely brushing against her clit with his palm. Kissing her deeply seconds before he enters her with two fingers.

Her fingers still in his hair and take a steady hold. Breaking off the kiss, she moans into his cheek as her body welcomes his fingers. Instinctively trying to find a rhythm with them.

"Fuck," she says as his thumb slowly starts to rub just above her clit. He smiles at that; she so rarely curses.

Trying to see if she can handle it, he lowers his thumb directly onto her clit. Her reaction is instantaneous. The way she shifts, to increase the pressure and the beautiful gasp from her lips tells him to keep his thumb right where it is, and if he didn't, he's sure she'd put it right back there a moment later.

"Right there?" he asks, mostly to see if she'd respond at all, and he's surprised by her enthusiastic nod.

They continue on for a bit; he notices every movement as she seems to get closer to going over. Pressing kisses into her skin, wherever they end up, lingering there with warm lips.

"Another," she practically growls it into his ear.

When he obliges, he can feel her tense beneath him, clenching around them, fucking herself on his three fingers as he continues to rub her clit with his thumb.

"Jess," she whines, too loud, but based on everything else, she's so close.

"Shh, shhhh," he urges, pressing his forehead against hers before kissing her cheek when her noises change to small needy gasps.

"That's it," he says, watching her continue to find the pleasure in this. Biting her own lip to keep herself more quiet, not that it's really all that effective.

The clenching around his fingers is an almost constant as he watches her cum. She still shakes a little as it happens. Keeping the continuous movement on her clit to keep her like that for as long as possible.

"Rory," he whispers into her ear, just seeing her like this while there's light shows him things he didn't know before.

The limpness of her smile now and slight pinkness that rises on her face, continuing down to her chest, it's warm beneath his lips, being to two most obvious things. "Gorgeous," he says, placing a kiss on her neck before he begins to blow cool air against her skin; the grip she has in his hair that had gone mostly limp suddenly returns, guiding him up, so it's concentrated on her face.

"Rory, I love you," he says between breaths as she continues to find pleasure in his fingers.

He begins to slide out his fingers, but she starts to shake her head, "Fuck Jess. Keep going," she says, her voice rough and filled with need.

"Hold still, just let me," he says, returning this thumb to her clit. A steady press brings her back over not a minute later. Her body going taut after a few shakes.

"So good, so good," she says twice at some point after; she's still feeling it probably.

He's not sure when she comes back to herself, but he knows she has when she takes his hand and guides his fingers from her.

Licking his fingers, she's heavy on his tongue, clean, and somehow so absolutely Rory.

\------

Looking down to find her staring up at him, a lazy smile on her lips.

She starts to sit up into the corner of the couch, and he joins her, helping her bring her shirt back up when she starts to cover herself again.

"Bed?" he asks, kissing the skin of her shoulder, watching her focus still returning.

"Bed in a minute," she says, leaning into him, smiling after blinking a few times, her response delayed more than ten seconds after the question was asked.

Then her hands start grabbing at his undershirt. "Off, need this off," she says, determination in her eyes.

Tugging his shirt over his head with minimal help, she looks so pleased when she tosses it about a foot in front of them. Making him laugh.

Her hands begin to trace the muscles of his chest. Her hands are warm as they explore. Stopping just below his heart. Right, she'll want to know.

He can picture what she's looking at.

07.01  
01.14  
11.16  
08.14

Tattooed on his skin, tiny in point 14 Time's New Roman. Each right below the next.

"What are these? Dates?" she asks, pure curiosity in her voice.

He just nods, "They're for the books that Truncheon has published that are the most important to me," he explains quickly, "The ones I'm most proud of." He's never had to share that with anyone before. No one has ever even asked.

"Publication dates?" she asks, confused; of course she is; she's memorized the publication dates of each of his novels, hasn't she.

"The first day of printing," he says, watching her smile at the information. He's explained this to her before, how the first printing day means the book is tangible; it's truly finished for the first time.

"There's four already?" she asks, confused, well she certainly would be, "Truncheon hasn't started printing Linchpin yet; besides, the date is all wrong." She's so smart, she'll realize in less than a minute at this rate.

But she looks at him after half a minute, confusion still in her eyes. "The fourth date, it's for..." he starts to say, but she's cut off by her gasp. There it is.

"It's Gilmore Girls," she says, shocked, staring at him waiting for him to confirm it.

He just nods, and she looks suddenly overwhelmed.

"Jess," she says, her voice still full of shock, and he just offers her his hand to take, which she does.

"You're proud of me?" she asks tentatively.

How is that even a question? He doesn't understand; he's told her that. "Yes, of course, I am," he says quietly, needing her to believe it.

She leans in and kisses him, it's raw and emotional, but he wouldn't change it for anything.

She's the one to end the kiss because he'd never end a kiss that was so clearly about him giving support to her.

Cupping one side of his face, she leans in again and says, "You are such a sweet, sentimental dork," so fondly he can't find it in himself to be contradictory.

Grinning, he agrees. But he looks around left and right immediately after, before whispering, "Shhhhhh, I have a reputation."

And she laughs, the sound ringing sweetly in his ears as she smiles and brings him in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, and Kuddos are my greatest motivation to write more. Please consider doing the things.
> 
> PS. Smut chapter's really tend to get way less comments and I get it, but my smut writing is actually something I'm the most insecure about so even the littlest of feedback, doesn't even have to be about the smut, is great


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